House spun around to find Cuddy standing behind him, exuding the odd aroma of Joy perfume and brimstone. The horns sticking out of her perfectly-coiffed hair were slightly off-putting, but there was something to be said for the forked tail trailing out of her bright red lace teddy.
"You owe me clinic hours, House."
House shrugged. "I also owe Keanu Reeves an ass-kicking for wasting two hours of my life with the last Matrix movie. Doesn't look like either one of us is getting what we want."
Cuddy pointed one steaming acrylic-tipped red nail at him. "I liked the last Matrix movie. Gregory House, for crimes against humanity you are sentenced to eternity of clinic duty!" The walls fell away and suddenly he was standing in the middle of the clinic, a clinic filled with soccer moms toting sniffling toddlers. They started shuffling toward him, calling his name and shoving their ankle-biters at him.
Slightly alarmed now, House held up his hands to Cuddy. "Wait a minute! Let's make a deal: I won't kick Keanu's ass and you-you make them go away."
Cuddy threw her head back and cackled. She gestured at House. "Dr. House will see you in Exam Room One," she said to the crowd.
They shuffled towards him, more and more, until his back was pressed against the wall.
Cuddy's horns twitched in amusement. "You should have done your clinic hours when you had the chance, House-
House came awake with a jerk and instantly regretted it. His back, neck, and leg were all singing old Yoko Ono tunes thanks to being forced to spend the night on an old cot.
On the plus side, he was staring directly at a great set of boobs.
The boobs in question were attached to none other than Lisa Cuddywho was leaning over his cot, shaking him. "House! It's good to see-"
He held up one finger, cutting her off abruptly. Cautiously, slowly, he reached up and poked his fingers through her hair. "No horns," he remarked, relieved.
She poked her own fingers into his hair. "No manners," she shot back."And please tell me you weren't having an erotic dream about Keanu Reeves."
House colored. "Heard that, did you?"
She crossed her arms and nodded.
"Well, sorry to be the one to dash all your hopes, but I have to report that I am now a happily married man."
Cuddy looked skeptical. "Really? And how much tequila did it take for that to happen?"
A hoarse voice came from beside them. "Just one. I'm a cheap date." Wilson was sitting up and grinning.
House's heart ached at seeing Wilson's wince as he sat up, but he stepped on the urge to ask all sorts of whiny, doctory questions like 'How are you feeling' and settled for, "You're awake. Good. Go get me breakfast."
The oncologist tilted his head. "Hmmm, gee, love to, but- "he made a gesture toward his bandaged shoulder. "-kinda laid up right now. You, however, can go get mine." He shot House a triumphant glance.
House sighed, made a bigger than normal show of popping his pills, and heaved himself to his feet. "Your shoulder better heal," he said. "Don't wanna be burdened with a damn cripple for the rest of my life." He meant to exit on that one-liner, but he glanced at his best friend and saw the exasperated affection sparkling in the warm brown eyes, softening the pain lines on his face. Without meaning to, he smiled back and they both cracked up laughing.
Cuddy looked from one to the other, confused. "Were you serious? You two got married?"
"Well, we haven't really gone that far," Wilson said.
"Yeah, we're still arguing over the big questions like whether to invite Wilson's incontinent old Great-Aunt Ethel and whether I'll be Dr. Wilson or he'll be Dr. House-"
Wilson chimed in. "I voted for House-Wilson and yes to my Aunt Ethel-"
"-then there's the matter of the bridesmaids dresses. I say Chase would look hideous in yellow tulle, but Wilson says it's no worse than what he wears to work every day." He raised his eyebrows at Cuddy. "Don't get me started on what he wants to put on the invitations."
Good enough. Redeemed, he limped out, but not before hearing a shell-shocked Cuddy ask, "So you really ..."
It was amazing, House thought, how his ducklings always seemed to sense a sea change in his life. Even a lake change or a puddle change. It was as if they received radio transmissions from Mars. In Chase's case, it was more like Uranus, but the point stood.
Anyway, by the time House returned with the meals they were all grouped around Wilson and Cuddy, heads together. They all snapped around when House walked up. Cameron was, predictably, the first one on her feet.
"Congratulations," she said with a game smile. Looking at her, House could practically see the bright future she'd planned for the two of them waving at her from the caboose of a departing train: two blue-eyed children-boy and girl, of course-two story Victorian with a white picket fence, and nary a Vicodin in sight. Probably been taken off the market in Cameronland, along with everything but puppies and warm spring days.
"Thanks," he said. "And just so you know, I've always hated Victorians, anyway."
Chase reached over to shake his hand and Foreman was standing with his arms crossed, smirking in that annoyingly superior way. God, House hated superior, smirking people who weren't him. He waved his hands through the air as though banishing a bad smell. "Okay, people, Wilson needs his rest. Only doctors allowed here." He paused. "Only doctors who are dating him." He paused again. "Granted, that could be anyone in the state of New Jersey with a medical degree and some free time, so just get the hell out."
Cuddy hesitated. "House, if you need-"
House brandished his cane. "Begone, Satan's Plaything, and take Yakko, Wakko and Dot with you."
House made sure they were gone and then poked Wilson in the side with his cane. "Scoot over."
"You heard me. Scoot."
Sigh. "House, this is a single bed, never mind the fact that my shoulder hurts like a-"
"If you expect a honeymoon handjob from me, you'll find a way."
Wilson brightened. "Then again, why not?" He wiggled a little and managed to make about 4 inches of room.
House perched one buttcheek on the bed and eased over onto his side, jockeying for position. A few "Ow, dammits!" and "Well, give me more room!" later they were lying, bent and twisted, but together.
Wilson looked into House's eyes--not difficult, considering they were scrunched up not two inches form his own. "So, what now?" he asked awkwardly.
House rolled his baby blues. "Now we get stoned and talk about sitar music, what do you think?" He slid a hand under the covers and down Wilson's leg.
Wilson fidgeted. "This is a little uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable after 12 years of friendship?"
"No, uncomfortable with your elbow in my spleen." Wilson jerked back, freeing the squished organ. "Sorry, House. I don't think this is going to work."
House nodded. "Well, I guess we could just lie here and take a nap." He shuddered. "I think we're getting a preview of old age."
Wilson turned his head to watch him. "Are you disappointed?"
Truth be told, House wanted Wilson, but for more than a quick handjob under the sheets in a smelly, noisy tent. Of course, there was something to be said for a handjob under any circumstances, but he grudgingly had to admit that lying here with Wilson was way better than that. Not that he planned to let Wilson off the hook that easily.
"I was hoping that life with you would mean non-stop sexual perversions, many of which would be recorded and saved to DVD to be entered into the Guinness Book, but if you're going to cock-block me like this..."
Wilson grinned. "Yes, well, sorry my broken body fails to amuse."
"Totally. I should go find Cuddy and take her out back for a quick one." House slid an arm behind Wilson's head.
"I will." He pulled Wilson to his shoulder.
"Go for it."
"See if I don't." He settled back against the pillows.
Wilson snorted into his neck. "You're not going anywhere, so just shut up and get some rest."
House opened his mouth to reply, but nothing came out.
Holy shit. I've just been domesticated!